


you fashion a single ever-fresh flower

by aiviloti, l_moongod



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuaka through the language of flowers and four seasons, Fluff, M/M, Zine piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiviloti/pseuds/aiviloti, https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_moongod/pseuds/l_moongod
Summary: Bokuaka throughout the four seasons, through the language of flowers.It’s been only a little over a year since Bokuto graduated from Fukurodani, but Akaashi can easily count on one hand all the times he has seen Bokuto since. Right now, it is all the seasons that Akaashi passes without Bokuto, and him dreaming of those with, that fuels this desperation for him to cling to this star, whose brilliance had not been dulled, but rather sharpened by the distance.Akaashi misses him. There really is no other way to put this.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 15
Kudos: 139
Collections: Head Empty Only BokuAka, aiviloti's zine pieces





	you fashion a single ever-fresh flower

Akaashi loves spring.

Spring is the season of change, of new beginnings. It is a fresh breath of air after the chill and jagged winter, the first splash of colour on a pale canvas, fuelling one as they continue to paint the whole picture. It seeps into the gaps of grey and the lurking gloom. It provides hope for better times to come. Akaashi likes to associate spring with all things good in the world.

For example, Bokuto Koutarou.

It is not spring when Akaashi vacillates between Suzumeoka and Fukurodani, nor when he first meets Bokuto burning like the sun on that volleyball court. But it is spring when Akaashi truly sees Bokuto for the first time.

They are inside the Fukurodani gym, two months after practice first starts in the spring of 2011. Usually, Akaashi would have died to be outside instead of cooped up here indoors, outside where he can take all of spring in, the birds that sing, the smiles on people’s faces that stretch just a bit wider. 

Outside, among the flowers. 

Akaashi’s neighbours love daisies. Every spring, the daisies bloom ferociously, filling their balconies and walls. When they fall, they make their way into the Akaashis’ lawn and he collects them. In his mind, he’s already linked them together: the gentle caresses of spring and the flecks of yellow between the white petals. Spring brings daisies to Akaashi, and they give him faith. Faith for good things to come. Hope. 

Practice comes to a pause after their fifth set of the day. Bokuto slides into the empty spot next to Akaashi on the bench, taking him by surprise.

“Why volleyball, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks. He looks straight ahead at the court and not at Akaashi, his palms pressed against the bench. 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean?”

“Why did you choose volleyball?” Bokuto repeats, then tilts his head to face Akaashi. “I mean, not that I don’t enjoy having you around to toss to me and everything, but I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

There is nothing remotely intimidating about his words, yet Akaashi averts his gaze.

Why volleyball? He wonders too. What is it that he sees in this sport, in sitting in the stuffy gym in spring, the best season to be outside?

He thinks of the first time he saw Bokuto, in all of his dazzling glory. Then, he was simply another boy in another numbered jersey on another court. Someone in a crowd. His spikes were also nothing but one among many others, so what was it that drew Akaashi to him?

Maybe it was the intensity of the sheer faith in what he was doing.

It has been two months since practice first started, two months of Bokuto calling out to Akaashi for tosses, and two months of unexpected praises for his barely mediocre tosses that shouldn’t warrant so much flattery. 

Sincere, hopeful: these are words you don’t associate with volleyball. But he thinks of Bokuto’s spikes, powerful and sincere, all powered by the intensity of “I will score this point for all of you, as the ace!” and Akaashi sees hope. 

Maybe he likes volleyball because volleyball brings Bokuto to him; because Bokuto brings hope to him. 

“We’re going to win the next match, Akaashi!” Bokuto says to him once practice ends, his eyes glimmering. “And all the ones that come after that!”

“Bokuto-san, you know first years don’t usually get to play.”

“I don’t care, Akaashi! I have faith in you!”

Akaashi blinks. There it is. Faith. The lull of being safe as long as someone is there, the unwavering conviction of better times to come. It’s exactly why he falls in love with spring, and maybe more than just spring.

“I-I have faith in you too, Bokuto-san.”

“Ehh? Are you smiling? This is the first time I have seen you smile in these two months!” he says with the delight of a child finding a new toy. “Hey, hey, hey! Guys look, Akaashi is smiling!”

Akaashi isn’t sure if he’s smiling, but he sure is mortified. 

“Bokuto-san, please calm down.” He wills himself to keep a straight face, but fails miserably. "Remember what you asked? Why volleyball?" Akaashi asks. 

“Yeah?” 

"Because it gives me faith that there is something to be hopeful for.”

Bokuto flashes him a bright smile, and Akaashi feels his eyes crinkle against his will. 

Akaashi loves spring. Spring is the season of hope, of new beginnings, of faith, of daisies. It is the first shot of brilliance that wedges its way into a vast emptiness, then it fills the vacuum of things that do not exist until it brims with life, with seedlings and beginnings of a brilliance that didn’t feel believable.

Spring is the season of everything good, of falling in love with Bokuto Koutarou.

* * *

Akaashi loves summer.

Spring is all tufts of pretty pastels blended together, and then you have summer, strong and vibrant in ways spring is not. Akaashi feels like his senses are heightened in the summer. Something about the heat and the memories that accompany it, like trips to the beach, like watermelon flavoured ice pops on his tongue, like fireworks sending vibrations through his heart; these are the things that make Akaashi feel alive. 

There are things that summer carries over from spring, like Bokuto’s whines of “Just one more toss, Akaashi? Please?” and the role of vice captain Akaashi had unexpectedly been saddled with, accompanied by reassuring expressions and a pat on the back from the rest of the third years.

“You’ll be fine, Akaashi. You’ll have Bokuto with you.” Konoha grins. “It’s always nice to have a vice captain from a different year so that the transition is smoother anyway.”

“Yeah, Akaashi! You’ll have me!”

“Bokuto-san, there is no need to be so loud.”

“I just didn’t want you to worry! We all think you’ll do a fantastic job at it, we have faith in you!”

That is not all summer carries over to spring. The poppies that bloom in late spring and stretch into early summer greet Akaashi everyday on his way to school and on his way back home as the sun dips below the horizon. _Summer is here_ , they tell Akaashi with their seas of red, speckled with the occasional whites and yellows. _Go out there and have fun, rejoice._

"Did you have fun, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi asks on their way home after the last day of the training camp. Bokuto is usually the first one to crash upon stepping into the van, tired out by his excess display of energy, but he’s wide awake now, staring outside the window with a faraway look. Akaashi continues, even though he isn’t sure if Bokuto heard him at all. “Did you enjoy the training camp?”

Bokuto nods. 

“The Karasuno freak duo are so cool.” His voice is no more than a whisper, but Akaashi can hear the blatant awe behind it. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had!”

“You say the same thing every time, Bokuto-san.”

“But it’s true. It’s a new high every time I'm with you,” Bokuto says. 

A blush creeps up Akaashi’s neck. 

He’s lucky that Bokuto is still looking outside with a dazed look. As much as he appreciates the kind words Bokuto easily dishes out, Akaashi isn’t so sure he appreciates wanting to scream, laugh, cry, then combust, in that order. It’s also infuriating how easy all of this is for him to say. As if it were true.

Akaashi almost believes him.

“Did _you_ have fun?” Bokuto asks. “I never know if you’re having fun.”

“You really love to have fun, Bokuto-san.”

“Of course! What’s the point of doing something if you’re not having any fun?” Bokuto scratches his head, then adds, “I like to win too! That feeling when you send the last ball over the net with a _WHAM_ and then you succeed? It feels like I’m on the top of the world!”

In a matter of seconds, Bokuto’s dreamy daze has ebbed away, leaving a burning look in his eyes. He stares at Akaashi, his golden eyes reminding him of ichor under the rays of the sun.

Mesmerised by the beauty, Akaashi echoes, “Fun and success huh? Sounds good to me.”

“So,” Bokuto says, slow and deliberate. "You never answered me." 

The look in his eyes tells Akaashi Bokuto isn’t going to let him go if he doesn’t supply an answer that satisfies him. 

So he obliges, although every word is the full truth. “I did, Bokuto-san. I always have a lot of fun when you’re around, too.”

“Akaaaaaashi,” Bokuto exclaims in joy. Akaashi shushes him.

“Everyone’s sleeping. I think Washio and Komi would be very angry with you if you woke them up,” he chuckles. 

Bokuto pouts, then he turns his head back to stare outside the window.

“Akaashi, look!” he says, this time an excited whisper.

He’s greeted by a plethora of poppies, a vast sea of rubies that spreads out under the sun.

“I love poppies,” Bokuto says. 

“I never knew that.”

“Now you do! The red ones,” he jabs a finger at the glass, “They mean fun-loving! That’s me!”

“Bokuto-san, you are a person, not a flower.”

“I can be whatever I want to be!”

Akaashi loves summer. Summer is the season of struggles and fights, against volleyball teams with insane freak quicks and rooster-headed middle blockers who can read their every move. It’s the season of facing challenges that come, like the disgusting heat that hangs on his shoulders and threatens to stay there for the next three months. So it’s the season of surmounting these challenges, the feeling of exerting yourself fully in everything that makes Akaashi feel alive.

Akaashi loves all that accompanies summer, like training camps and volleyball and firework shows with the Fukurodani team. Like feeling alive, surrounded by fields of poppies and Bokuto Koutarou. 

* * *

Akaashi loves autumn.

Autumn is the lingering aesthetics of orange hues that dance with the maroons and the golds. It is the melancholy of things leaving, leaves turning colours and falling. One may argue that there is more life in autumn than winter, but Akaashi thinks watching things leave hurt more, because everything is still there, within reach. Until they aren’t anymore.

“Thanks for doing this.” Akaashi’s voice is muffled behind the tall stack of boxes he’s carrying. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I don’t mind,” Bokuto chirps, also buried between Akaashi’s masses of belongings. “I’ve never been in university! I wanna see what university looks like!”

Sunflowers are scattered all over Akaashi’s university. From the entrance gate to the corners of the field, the library to the hostels, patches of yellow, brown, and green beam at Akaashi as he and Bokuto struggle to move Akaashi's obscene amount of stuff into his new dorm.

If he tries hard enough (which he doesn't), he vaguely recalls telling everyone who questioned him that the box of novels were “essential to his education”. Yet as he stands here, far too embarrassed to hog the elevator for himself among the crowds of students who were all moving in today, he wishes he had listened. 

“Come on, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. “We’re going to take the stairs.”

Bokuto protests. “But your room is on the fourth floor! And the elevators are working just fine!”

“And you’re slacking off practice just by being here, Bokuto-san. Come on, you’re a professional athlete.” Akaashi pauses, then adds slyly, “Or are a few flights of stairs too tough for a pro?”

As they take the stairs, Akaashi silently thanks Bokuto’s ego, one so inflated that it easily hides Akaashi’s shame and embarrassment.

It takes three trips each to carry Akaashi’s clothes and volleyball (for sentimental value!) and Murakami (they are literary works!) and Taylor Swift’s entire discography (for moral support in the depths of an academic hustle!) and other things that Akaashi manages to come up with completely convincing reasons for bringing.

They lean against the wall, slumped on the floor next to each other in Akaashi’s currently chair-less dorm room. 

“I’ll treat you to dinner after this, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, words slipping between sharp inhales. 

_Huh_ , he thinks. _Perhaps I should really have continued working out despite no longer being on the volleyball team._

“Ehh? You don’t have to, Akaashi! My kouhai got into university! Let me celebrate and be proud of you.” Bokuto waves his hand frantically. He has barely broken into sweat. No, Akaashi is not jealous of his physique. “I’m a full time athlete! I can pay for dinner once! If you want to treat me you’ll have to invite me out to dinner again.”

Akaashi’s room is high enough for him to overlook the campus and the sunflowers that sway in the autumn breeze all the way from the ground floor. Perhaps it’s how radiant and bright they seem next to the plain grey of the concrete and streets that injects a hope into his veins, a burning ache, an itch to do something, _something_. The sunflowers sway on. Their cheerfulness feels like an insult to him.

 _What do they know_? Akaashi wants to laugh. He wants to prove them wrong, maybe. The itch spreads, the fire that grows in his stomach singes him as he watches the sunflowers that shine. It sends a wave of recklessness all over Akaashi.

It’s been only a little over a year since Bokuto graduated from Fukurodani, but Akaashi can easily count on one hand all the times he has seen Bokuto since. Right now, it is all the seasons that Akaashi passes without Bokuto, and him dreaming of those with, that fuels this desperation for him to cling to this star, whose brilliance had not been dulled, but rather sharpened by the distance. 

Akaashi misses him. There really is no other way to put this.

“Say, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi breaks into laughter, taking Bokuto by surprise. “Do you suppose it would count as a date then?”

Or maybe he's just struggling from the lack of oxygen. Stupid four flight of stairs and cheaper rent.

Bokuto does not reply for a moment too long to pass off as natural. Akaashi feels like the subject of an experiment as Bokuto's golden eyes fix on him. He decides to intervene before the rest of his dignity dissipates. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking properly.” He is mortified by how hot his face feels. Bokuto’s wide-eyed look in no way aids his cause. He tries again. “In other words, I was joking, Bo-”

“Yeah,” Bokuto cuts in. His eyes are gleaming. “It’s a date.”

Akaashi blinks.

“What?”

“You asked me if it was a date, so I said yes!” He scratches his head. Akaashi watches his features change as the realisation sinks in. “This means,” he says in a voice that qualifies for a whisper in Bokuto speech, eyes full of awe, “I’m dating you now.”

Akaashi can’t see himself now, but he has a hunch that he has turned a furious shade of red. _What is going on what is going on what is going on-_

There is nothing remotely romantic about any of this, not the sweat that coats Akaashi from what barely passed for a work out, not the scattered belongings that sits on the layers of dust who in turn sit on Akaashi’s wooden floor planks, not the murky autumn skies that is neither vibrant nor spellbinding, but Akaashi still thinks Bokuto looks the most dreamlike and beautiful he has ever seen.

He scoots over the wooden planks, sending flecks of dust flying in this utterly unromantic setting, and he presses his lips to Bokuto’s. 

Akaashi loves autumn. Autumn is the season of change. It is where the summer heat leaves, transitioning into its polar opposite. It is not easy to get used to: change, the absence of something held dear. But it's also why one remembers to hold on tighter the next time they find it again.

* * *

Akaashi loves winter.

Beauty comes in many forms. Winter is quiet. It does not scream. It does not need to sing and dance like spring does; it does need to argue and win as summer does; it does not need to glow and dazzle as autumn does. It is simply there, simple, monotonous, yet Akaashi is mesmerised all the same.

Akaashi does not have a green thumb. His Chinese evergreens are not green. They are yellow instead. His neighbours had made planting daisies look too easy. They are not. Akaashi’s have all wilted within 5 weeks. His mother, who visited two months ago, had taken one horrified look at the very little greens and the very much yellows and kidnapped his still healthy spider plant before Akaashi could “commit another murder”.

It’s okay. Akaashi is not a quitter.

When he brings a pansy home, he’s hopeful. 

“Keiji! We won again today!”

“I know, I caught it live.” Akaashi smiles, one hand on the phone and the other watering his tiny pansy. “Congratulations.”

“Did you see that incredible-”

“Line shot that even the EJP Raijin’s libero couldn’t receive? I did, that was downright fantastic.”

Bokuto is nowhere near Akaashi right now, but Akaashi can still visualise the ecstatic expression written all over his face, possibly hiding away from the rest of the Jackals who are celebrating their win over dinner. 

"I was awesome, wasn't I?"

“You were brilliant, Kou. You always are.”

There it is again, the beam that Akaashi can feel despite the miles that separate them. The warmth it brings can probably convince Akaashi to ditch his socks and coats and scarves and gloves in the dead of the winter if they tried. That’s how powerful they are, how powerful this one man called Bokuto Koutarou is.

“Are you alone?”

“It’s New Years Eve, everyone is home, where else could I be?” Akaashi laughs.

Then, a small voice. “Sorry I’m not home.”

“Please don’t worry, Kou,” Akaashi murmurs. “You’ll be home very soon. I’m alright here.”

Bokuto doesn’t reply.

“Am I taking up too much of your time? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of the team, Mr. Ace?” Akaashi teases. “You don’t have to feel sorry at all, Kou, really. I’m going to the shrines first thing in the morning with Kuroo and Kenma tomorrow. Promise I won’t spend New Years Day cooped up at home alone.”

“I got a surprise gift for you.”

“Hmm? Where did you hide it? I didn’t see anything suspicious when I cleaned the house?”

“It’s delivered.” Bokuto’s tone turns cheeky, melting the rest of Akaashi’s worries. “Open the door.”

“Did you bribe the delivery man to get it delivered at a specific time?"

“Keiiiiiijiiiiiiii-”

“Alright, alright, hold on.” He chuckles, then gets up from his chair, careful to not kick over his few still alive houseplants, and his even rarer pansies that have managed to bloom.

“Miss me?” 

If this were a TV show, or the shoujo mangas that Akaashi has to proofread every week, something dramatic would happen, like Akaashi dropping his phone that was still on a call to Bokuto’s, or flinging into Bokuto’s embrace, or crying on his doorstep at the sight of his boyfriend he hasn’t seen in a week. But this is not a TV show, nor a shoujo manga, so he does none of these.

“H-how long have you been standing out here in a T-shirt and jeans?” he stutters, then furiously shoves Bokuto inside the house. 

Bokuto laughs a bit as he stumbles to toe off his shoes, and is ushered to the couch.

“Please take these,” Akaashi squawks, dropping a mountain of blankets on a very amused Bokuto. “Do you need tea? Anything? Have you eaten?”

“Aren’t you at least going to ask why I’m here?”

“Yes!” he cries in distress. “That can wait. Why do you never take care of yours-”

Bokuto pushes the blankets off him, and wraps Akaashi in a hug. “I’m alright Keiji, you opened the door just as I reached. I got a ride home from the coach, so I wasn’t walking around in the cold. We had dinner, I’m not hungry.” His grip tightens, then he murmurs softly, “Okay?”

The tension floods out of Akaashi’s shoulders. “...Okay,” he grudgingly mumbles. “You can tell me why you’re here now.”

“We decided to come back earlier, so we left immediately after the game. Anyway, I didn’t want those dying plants in the house to be your only company,” Bokuto chuckles.

“They will do better if you remember to water them when it’s your turn,” Akaashi snorts, then points to the cluster of plants. “Look, some of them bloomed while you were gone.”

Bokuto lets out a tiny gasp. “You did it,” he says in amazement, the same one he has given Akaashi for years, the sheer admiration he has for things so much less remarkable next to his own dazzle. 

Akaashi’s heart grows about twelve sizes bigger as he mutters, “Yeah.” Then, a laugh. “We did it.”

Akaashi loves winter. Winter is harsh, nothing flashy to it. Perhaps that’s why even the tiniest bit of warmth shines through so brightly, going from a flame to an inferno within seconds. Tufts of yellow and brilliant purple among white and grey.

Akaashi loves the seasons. He loves the multicoloured days and things that fit themselves in the seams like flowers and sweat and laughter. Beautiful things are easy to love, but in a world with just about as many highs as there are lows, it takes faith and care to nurture tougher times into joy and radiance. That's what being with Koutarou feels like.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [ [V](https://twitter.com/vwritesaus) | [Sweet](https://twitter.com/shesusismygod) | [Kiro](https://twitter.com/kiroiimye) ] for helping beta this and leaving really helpful and insightful feedback! Huge shoutout to luna [ [twitter](https://twitter.com/lvnesart) | [tumblr](https://lvnesart.tumblr.com/) | [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/lvnesart/)] for the amazing art they created to go with this and how they took every single scene and made it so bright and vibrant and everything I could've ever hoped for and more!! You can also find the original post to look at it here [ [twitter](https://twitter.com/lvnesart/status/1342691440485412864?s=20) | [tumblr](https://lvnesart.tumblr.com/post/638591211351031808/my-contributions-for-the-hanakotoba-bokuaka-zine) | [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CJP1-helEWG/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)]
> 
> Titled inspired by "angels of peace", a poem by Ikeda Daisaku. This was also written for the Bokuaka Hanakotoba Zine back in June-July, one of my very first haikyuu zines! Incredibly thankful to be a part of something so amazing and work alongside such talented creators!
> 
> You can find me here at [tumblr](https://aiviloti.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/aiviloti)! Kudos and the likes are always appreciated, but at the end of the day I just hope this makes you holidays (or whenever you're reading this!) a little bit warmer :>


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